


I Have Nothing

by iliveinthemoon



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bromance, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Love, Modern and old mix, Romance, Royalty, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, time lapse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:33:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinthemoon/pseuds/iliveinthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a Royal Ball to celebrate the end of the War and all the King's Musketeers must attend, so what happens when the Queen insists on dancing??</p>
<p>There's a merge of a modern song and dancing which was not of the time period in this fic.</p>
<p>Please excuse me I'm not good at summaries :(</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for selecting this work, I hope you at least like it a little bit :) (Fingers crossed!!)
> 
> The song is in the title of this fic - I Have Nothing by the late great Whitney Houston!! I suggest you have a listen to it either before or while reading this fic to get the feel of it :/
> 
> Also this song was danced to by Georgia May Foote and Giovanni Pernice on Strictly Come Dancing (UK) - they did an American Smooth-Viennese Waltz hybrid dance which inspired me to write this as it was very sweeping and romantic and I tried to get that in this, but it's really hard to describe a dance!! You can check it out on YouTube to see what I had in mind for how the dance would kinda go in this fic.
> 
> I apologise for rambling :(:)
> 
> Pls note I do not own any of the character I was just inspired by them, the books and the TV show!!

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The Musketeers are on duty at a Royal Ball. Aramis is standing to the side of the royal table at the head of the room. Porthos is on the otherside and d’Artagnan is standing just behind the Queen – seeing as Constance is next to the young woman, while Athos is standing behind the King, who has Treville next to him. It has been a long night already, and the sight of the Dauphin in Constance’s arms only feet away is just making it even longer for the Musketeer.

Aramis had gone to become a abbé; to join the order and devote his life to God like he had thought of doing when he was a younger man. But then within days his brothers had arrived to inform him that France was going to war with Spain and well, he returned to the regiment. Athos – who was now Captain of the Musketeers and Treville as the new Minister for War had not officially registered his resignation so he had no issue with slipping back into his previous position.

It was not a difficult decision to make. Yes, he had swore an oath with God that he would become his servant if God allowed the Queen to live, and he wanted to honour his pledge, but war has a habit of changing people’s plans and commitments. He knew that he could not forsake his country, his King and Queen and sit idly by in a monastery, not when he is a born fighter, not to mention one of the best in the country.

But the war was over and he had not yet returned to his honour vow. No he is still with his brothers, still serving in the Musketeers, still watching the woman he loves from afar, still watching another man raise his precious child – who is now a toddler with a great love for the Musketeers.

The Royal Ball is in tribute to the victory against the Spanish. All the most important people of Paris and France are in attendance, all patting themselves on the back for ‘their’ hard fought victory, when in fact not one of them even saw any action on the battlefield. But that is what rich and powerful people do, they stand at the back and let the common man fight, and then take the praise and credit for successes and deny involvement on defeats. This was nothing new to Aramis or his brothers and former Captain. They are soldiers after all; they know that when credit is being placed it’s never at their door.

He sighs as he watches the friends of the King fawn over each other, but especially the King and Queen. It’s all fake – fake smiles, fake praise, fake affection, and fake adulation. He glances over and can see that the Queen sees it too from the polite smile on her face, not like the King who laps up the praise and attention of his subjects.

This also happens to be the first time that Aramis has seen the Queen since the day he left the Musketeers over a year ago after the horrid Rochefort business. He’d managed to avoid being near the Palace or in the presence of the Royal Family until this day. Athos had tried to get him out of attending, but the King had insisted that all of his brave Musketeers who fought in the war be present. Even if attend actually meant be on duty.

The room falls silent as the King rises to his feet and all eyes are on him.

‘The Queen would like to dance and unfortunately I am incapacitated from a hunting injury, therefore I am unable to take this dance. So, is there a gallant man among my friends who would like to do the Queen this honour?’ the King announces with a jovial smile as he looks out over the room.

‘With your permission Your Majesty I would be honoured to take this dance, my Queen.’ Aramis sees a man get to his feet halfway down the room and bow as he offers his hand.

‘I, Your Majesty would be honoured to dance with my Queen.’ A second man – not far from the first – announces as he bows once on his feet.

‘Your Majesty let me have the honour of taking this dance with Her Majesty.’ A third man offers from closer to the Royal’s.

‘It would be an honour and a privilege to dance with Your Royal Highness.’ A fourth man states his offer.

And still more offer, clearly to the King’s great delight from the small clap of his hands and joy in his face, whereas the Queen has the decency to look a little embarrassed from all the fawning.

In that moment Aramis locks eyes with the Queen, it was the first time he’d truly looked at her in over a year and his heart skips a beat. All the feelings he’d suppressed flood through his body and it catches his breath. He cannot tear his eyes away from her. She looks even more beautiful than he can remember; she is stunning and takes his breath away.

‘My dear you are incredibly popular, look at all the offers.’ The King tells her as she smiles back up at him after managing to drag her gaze from her Musketeer.

‘Thank you gentlemen for your gracious offers, however I will let my Queen decide whom she will take this dance with.’ The King smiles as Queen Anne rises to her feet with a dignified smile and all the poise and grace of a Queen.

‘I wish to thank you gentlemen for your wonderful offers. However as this is a celebration of the brave and honourable men who fought for our King, I must insist that I take this dance with one of them’. The Queen announces to the room, a twinkle in her eyes.

The King’s brows furrow, but he keeps his regal smile on his face as he leans in close to her.

‘My dear, you cannot really want to dance with a common soldier? Why not choose one of our friends? At least they can dance.’ The King patronizes those who would give their lives for his.

Aramis sees Athos prickle behind the Royal party – obviously praying that the Queen doesn’t choose him seeing as he’s the Captain of the Musketeers and the fact that he was taught to dance due to his noble breeding. But he need not worry.

‘I will choose one of our brave and courageous King’s Musketeers to take this dance.’ The Queen tells the room as she moves from the table.

Aramis feels the eyes of Porthos and d’Artagnan fall on him, not to mention the side eyed glare of Athos and the uncomfortable gaze of Treville.

‘Of course. One of my brave Musketeers should do you this honour, my Queen.’ The King smiles as he bows to his wife who curtsey’s in return.

Aramis is breathing deeply as the Queen approaches him, her eyes shining brightly and a subtle smile on her face, he is looking front and center, trying not to look at the young woman heading in his direction. He sees King Louis lean towards Treville, a look of curiosity on his face.

‘Aramis of the King’s Musketeers, would you do me the honour of taking this dance?’ The Queen is commanding yet soft in her request as her eyes burn into his.

Aramis is aware that the room is silent as everyone waits for his answer – how can he refuse a request from the Queen, the woman he loves, the Mother of his child. He takes a breath and bows his head.

‘It would be my honour Your Majesty’ He replies, his voice loud and clear.

Applause ripples around the room as he offers her his hand. He catches sight of a clearly tense Athos standing behind the King, who watches them with narrow eyes - surely he can recall Rochefort's accusations about them.

They walk to the dance floor and Aramis takes his place in the center of it. The Queen walks a few feet away – she looks stunning in her beaded blush pink gown with her hair in an up-do and a crystal headband – like an angel. She really does take Aramis’ breath away.

He bows to her as the band strikes up and she smiles and curtsey back at him. He takes a steadying breath as he straightens up and they step toward one another. He offers her his hand and she smiles as he places her hand in his and their eyes lock. The singing begins as he takes her into hold and they move across the dance floor

_Share my life, take me for what I am_

_‘Cause I’ll never change all my colours for you_

_Take my love, I’ll never ask for too much_

_Just all that you are and everything that you do_

Applause spreads around the room as people gasp with surprise at the sight of the Queen and the Musketeer dancing with such competency and grace.

_I don’t really need to look very much further_

_I don’t wanna have to go where you don’t follow_

_I won’t hold it back again, this passion inside_

_Can’t run from myself_

_There’s nowhere to hide_

Aramis and Queen Anne are gliding around the dance floor in their Viennese Waltz

_Don’t make me close one more door_

_I don’t wanna hurt anymore_

_Stay in my arms if you dare_

_Or must I imagine you there_

_Don’t walk away from me…_

_I have nothing, nothing, nothing_

_If I don’t have you, you, you, you, you._

The words of the song are speaking to the Queen – it’s as if the song is the embodiment of her private thoughts and feelings about the man she is currently dancing with. It’s almost like her confession to him.

_You see through right to the heart of me_

_You break down my walls with the strength of your love_

_I never knew love like I’ve known it with you_

_Will a memory survive, one I can hold on to_

 

_I don’t really need to look very much further_

_I don’t wanna have to go where you don’t follow_

_I won’t hold it back again, this passion inside_

_I can’t run from myself_

_There’s nowhere to hide_

_Your love I’ll remember forever_

Aramis can see that their audience is captivated, by their elegance, their grace and poise. He thinks to himself that most of them are wondering where he learnt to dance, after all he is a lowly soldier and to most of the courtiers, nobles and Royals, soldiers are uneducated and unrefined who drink and fight too much.

_Don’t make me close one more door_

_I don’t wanna hurt anymore_

_Stay in my arms if you dare_

_Or must I imagine you there_

_Don’t walk away from me…._

_I have nothing, nothing, nothing_

It is like she has stepped inside a dream or fairytale. That she is an unmarried princess or Queen who is dancing a beautiful and elegant Viennese Waltz with her dashing and handsome knight. It is a beautiful dream while it lasts.

_Don’t make me close one more door_

_I don’t wanna hurt anymore_

_Stay in my arms if you dare_

_Or must I imagine you there_

_Don’t walk away from me, no. Don’t walk away from me_

_Don’t you dare walk away from me_

_I have nothing, nothing, nothing_

_If I don’t have you, you,_

_If I don’t have you, oh, ooh, ooh_

As the song draws to it’s conclusion and with the Queen tightly in his arms Aramis allows himself a tiny moment of happiness. He looks down at her in his arms and lets a faint smile creep onto his lips. She blushes when she catches sight of his gaze, it is a look of utter love and devotion, and she had missed it so desperately.

They are greeted with rapturous applause and shouts of how wonderful the Queen had danced. They turn toward the main table where her husband and their King is sitting clapping and smiling. Aramis bows and the Queen curtsey. King Louis nods in recognition.

Aramis takes the Queen’s hand to escort her back to her seat next to the King.

‘I need to see you.’ The Queen whispers with a smile as she accepts the gestures from her guests, but only Aramis hears her words, but he doesn’t reply.

Aramis bows to the King and Queen and retreats to his previous position and lets out a long deep breath with closed eyes. He feels someone beside him and opens his eyes to find Athos next to him.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ Athos asks him, his voice dry yet amused.

‘My Mother taught me to dance as a child.’ Aramis replies, both men looking straight ahead.

‘I thought your parents wanted you to be a Priest?’ Athos muses.

‘They did, but my Mother said I should have other skills as you never know when they may be of use.’ Aramis smiles softly.

‘I imagine it is a skill which impresses rich married women?’ Athos mutters, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Aramis side eyes him but chooses not to reply.

‘You should return to the Garrison, you look tired.’ Athos tells him, the tone lets Aramis know that there is no point in arguing. Without another word Athos walks away from Aramis and back to his place behind the King. Aramis sighs and glances over at the Queen. She is smiling warmly at their son, who is sitting on Constance’s knee. He gulps and leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos' :) They are such inspiration to continue, so thank you.
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but it works a purpose, so please be forgiving to it.
> 
> Once again I do not own any of the characters in this story.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Aramis walks back into the Garrison, he’s feeling emotionally tired. It had been a hard year or so. Both his mind and body ache. The Garrison is empty – all the Musketeers are at the Palace for the King’s all-night ball. He’s glad to have gotten out of staying for the duration of the celebrations – all the boasting and back slapping from the noble’s and courtiers for a job well done that they had no involvement in. There’s a bite in the air and fresh snow on the ground and the sky is clear of any clouds – well it is January. It’s quite refreshing to be alone in the cold.

‘Aramis’ He hears the Queen’s voice from behind him.

He turns around but there is no one there, nothing but shadows being cast by the moon. He thinks he’s dreaming, a trick of the mind. A fantasy. He turns back to carry on to his quarters.

‘Aramis.’ There it is again - her voice.

He spins around and she steps out of the shadows, like a bright light from the dark. He drops into a bow, his heart racing and his breath caught in his throat. After a moment he straightens up. She is still wearing her ball gown, but her hair is loose around her shoulders, hidden beneath her midnight blue cloak – she truly looks like an angel.

‘Your Majesty, what-what are you doing here? Is everything all right at the Palace? Is it the King? The Dauphin?’ Aramis garbles with panic as he takes a towards the Queen.

‘No, no. Everything is fine. The King and the Dauphin are both well.’ She smiles softly at him.

He lets out his breath in relief. 

‘Then. Then why are you here Your Majesty? It’s not safe.’ Aramis pushes her, confused by her reason for being at the Musketeer Garrison if all is well at the Palace, but deep down he knows the reason - him.

‘I-I came to see you.’ The Queen has the grace to blush by her own admission as she wrings her fingers together and glances down.

‘You shouldn’t be here.’ He sighs and turns away from her, knowing that you should never turn your back on a member of the Royal Family, but he can’t look into her eyes, because if he does he may not be responsible for his actions.

‘I want to be here. I need to be here. I need to be with you, Aramis. I have waited so long to see you. To see that you are well.’ She steps closer to him, and he slowly turns around to face her once again.

‘The words to the song we danced to, they are the words I dream to say out loud to you. They are the words I long for you to hear. It was as if they were speaking from my heart.’ The Queen smiles softly and blushes a little, she is so endearing. 

Aramis shakes his head; he cannot hear her admission, despite his longing to know her feelings. 

‘You cannot say these things to me. I am not worthy of such admissions and affection. I have brought you nothing but pain and anguish.’ He protests, but his voice is timid and weak and he cannot look her in the eyes.

She steps even closer and places her gloved hand on his forearm, the gesture surprises him and his head snaps up, and their eyes meet. And he knows that she is speaking the truth about her feelings – it is clear in her bright and hopeful eyes.

He is a weak and emotional man. All he desires is to be loved and to love someone with such fierce passion that he would lay down his life for them and for her – for the Queen – he will. His love for her goes beyond his duty as a Musketeer. He would give his life for the King out of duty, but he would give his life for the Queen and the Dauphin out of love. Love he feels for them with every ounce of his being.

The Queen steps even closer to him as she pulls off her gloves, he’s dropped his guard. He can feel the heat of her body radiating off her. His breath hitches in his throat as he slowly looks up, his eyes searching her face before resting on her eyes. The Queen smiles faintly, as she tentatively reaches up and lightly places her hand on his cold cheek, brushing his beard with her thumb. He leans into her hand and his eyes flutter shut, she is so warm. She tilts her head as she gazes adoringly at him.

Aramis wraps his one arm around the Queen’s waist and pulls her a little closer. With his other hand he places it over the top of the Queen’s. She rests her head on his chest, by his heart, feeling the bristles of his beard graze against her forehead. 

As if they are recalling their dance from earlier, they begin to sway from side to side, and Aramis begins humming the song, but it is more intimate, closer, more beautiful and more romantic. The moonlight. The lanterns. The snow. The crisp winter air. Just the two of them.

As he concludes with his humming they fall still, just holding one another, being together. Snow begins to fall as clouds move in overhead, plunging them into darkness apart from the dying light of a few lanterns.

‘You should go back, the King will notice your absence.’ Aramis whispers, but the Queen snuggles further into his chest.

‘He will not. As far as he is concerned I have retired to my apartments with the Dauphin. He will not check.’ She answers him, her voice assured as she looks up at him; he drops his hand from hers when he catches sight of the look in her eyes.

The Queen runs her index and middle fingers along his beard and then caresses his lips, feeling his staggered breath on the tips, she smiles shyly. Aramis grips her hand and presses her fingertips to his lips and kisses them, their eyes fixed together.

Together they move their hands and replace them with their lips, locked in a long desired and passionate kiss. She places her hands against his chest while he grips hold of her waist. 

The sound of a horse out in the street jolts their lips apart. Aramis instinctively reaches for his rapier with his one hand while keeping his other on her waist, holding her tightly. His eyes are fixed on the archway, which leads to the Garrison; while the Queen dips her head down into his chest, gripping onto his arm, fear burning in her heart. 

For a few moments Aramis is tense yet alert, until the noise passes on and he lets out his breath. He closes his eyes in relief that whoever it was didn’t come into the courtyard and find them there.

Aramis moves his hand from the hilt of his rapier; he takes hold of her hand and leads her to his room. Neither of them speaks; it’s too late for words now. 

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Aramis opens the door to his small room – it’s sparse and certainly not fitting for a Queen. The only furniture is a bed, a small desk with a chair and a cupboard for his clothes. There is a shelf just inside the door with a candle in a holder on it. The Queen enters the room and looks around and sees that he has few possessions - a Bible which sits on the desk next to a candle holder, some paper, writing materials, and a couple of books, but it is too dark for her to see the authors. It certainly is nothing like the Louvre and what she is used to – the opulence, the decadence, the fine furniture and decor, but it is Aramis’ home and that is all that matters.

Aramis walks inside with a candle, he lights the one by his bed before returning the one in his hand to the holder in the corridor. He closes the door behind him and turns the lock – even Musketeers are entitled to some privacy.

‘I am sorry for the meager accommodations Your Majesty. We Musketeers are modest people with few possessions.’ He begins to apologise, but the Queen smiles warmly at him as she undoes her cloak and folds it in her hands, before putting it on the back of the chair.

‘Do not apologise. I am not that sheltered that I have false ideas of how people live outside of the Palace.’ She assures him as she steps over to him and places her hands on his chest.

She leans in to Aramis and kisses him, it grows with intensity and passion as he wraps his arms around her waist, drawing her closer to him.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The Queen is running her finger over his chest as he holds her in his arm, nestled into his side, covered by the blanket. He smiles as he glances down at her; she looks so content, beautiful, happy and peaceful with the afterglow of sex.

She toys with the crucifix resting on his chest – it’s not the one she presented him for saving her life, that has been tainted by Rochefort, so he now wears a simple wooden crucifix. She understands, how could she not, but she does wonder if he kept it.

She traces over a fresh scar on his shoulder. She had memorized his body from their one previous night together. She needed a memory of happiness, fulfillment and joy to sustain her through her passionless marriage to the King.

‘This one…..is new.’ She observes and he turns his head to watch her fingers.

‘A musket ball. The scar is larger on my back from the exit wound.’ Aramis explains, trying not to make it sound too bad, but ultimately failing when he sees the concern flash on her face.

The Queen leans over him and kisses the scar, making her blush and him chuckle. 

‘Did you get hurt much. In the war?’ She asks him quietly as she looks up at him, her eyes full of such surprising innocence.

Aramis smiles faintly, trying to assure her that it was not too bad.

‘A few scrapes. Nothing I couldn’t handle. This was by far the worse, but nothing serious.’ Aramis tells her, trying to play down the injury, which had kept him out of the battle for a few days and in fact nearly killed him if it hadn’t been for his own experience with wounds and d’Artagnan’s fast reactions.

‘Well I am grateful and happy you survived.’ She whispers into his chest before pressing a kiss against his warm skin.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Aramis wakes, it’s still dark and the Queen is fast asleep next to him. He sighs quietly before carefully climbing off the bed, trying not to disturb her. She murmurs in her sleep and he pauses, but continues when he sees that she doesn’t wake. 

He takes hold of the candle on the shelf and walks over to his desk. He places it down and takes a seat and begins to write. The words manage to flow from him freely; they are words of great affection and love.

Once he has completed his letter and hid it beneath his books he goes back over to the bed. He leans over and softly places a hand on the Queen’s shoulder.

‘Your Majesty. Your Majesty. Anne.’ Aramis says as he gently strokes her arm.

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles up at him.

‘It’s time for you to return to the Palace, Your Majesty.’ Aramis sighs, he doesn’t want the night to end, but he knows it must for everyone’s sake.

She looks up at him, her eyes sorrowful and her expression one of disappointment.

After he gets dressed he assists the Queen, it is not often he helps a woman dress, normally he’s undressing them and the thought makes him blush, but he hides it well. He quickly gathers his Bible and pushes it into his small leather bag, which he keeps beneath his bed – he keeps the crucifix the Queen gave him hidden inside a silk purse.

Aramis checks the corridor and finds it empty he guesses all his Brothers must still be at the Palace; he waves for the Queen to follow him. They quickly exit, the Queen keeping her head down and her cloak pulled tightly over her head and around her, just incase. They make their way to the stables and Aramis quickly readies his horse as the Queen keeps look out.

Aramis helps the Queen onto his horse and then mounts it himself, seating himself behind her. The snow in the courtyard is untouched which tells Aramis that no one has returned to the Garrison overnight as he thought.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Aramis slows his horse to a stop near the Louvre. The streets are still dark and deserted, which they are both grateful for. Aramis climbs off his horse before helping the Queen down. He holds her close in his arms for a moment.

‘I love you.’ He whispers under his breath into her cloak, not sure if she heard, part hoping she did and part hoping she didn’t.

‘Thank you Aramis for a beautiful night.’ She mumbles before kissing him on the cheek and stepping back.

Aramis bows his head and they lock eyes. The spark is clear, as is their love. He takes a breath and steps back. She smiles and nods at him before disappearing into the grounds of the Louvre.

Aramis takes a moment. He breaths in deeply and closes his eyes, taking it all in. Taking in the smells and the sounds of the city. Taking in Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes or errors - I don't have it proofread by anyone or anything like that. Just little old me!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos' and the comments - you're all great!!!
> 
> I actually quite like this chapter :)
> 
> Disclaimer - I do not own any of these characters

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

‘You have a visitor in the courtyard.’ A man states to Aramis, who looks up from his Bible and nods in thanks.

He strolls out of the building and sees a man in a familiar uniform standing by a horse. A small smile creeps across his face - he knows the uniform and he knows the figure.

‘Captain.’ Aramis says cheerily and the man turns round to face him.

‘Abbé or can I still call you Aramis?’ Athos smiles as he approaches his friend.

‘Aramis will do.’ Aramis smiles warmly as they embrace in a friendly hug.

‘How are you old friend?’ Athos asks as he pats him on the back before they part.

‘I am well. And yourself Captain? How is the regiment? Porthos? D’Artagnan? Treville? Everyone?’ Aramis rushes with his questions, eager to hear news of his friends to Athos’ wry amusement.

‘Aramis, how long have we been friends?’ Athos looks straight at Aramis, trying to hide the small smile on his lips.

Aramis shakes his head slightly and a confused expression on his face, not sure of the reason behind the question.

‘Long enough that you do not need to call me Captain.’ Athos informs him with a friendly smile and a pat on his upper arm as Aramis chuckles.

‘Well, how is everyone?’ Aramis asks again and Athos drops his gaze before indicating they walk into the gardens.

Athos walks ahead of Aramis, and the silence of the not exactly chatty Captain concerns him, is something wrong? He had kept in touch with Porthos with letters, but mostly he could tell Porthos glossed over any truths or negative news. 

They receive news at the Monastery from the surrounding towns or from travellers, so he could tell when Porthos withheld news– mainly regarding the Royal family and he can understand why, it’s his own fault. 

‘Athos.’ Aramis reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder.

Athos turns around but Aramis cannot read anything from his expression, he’s far too experienced in life to be readable.

‘Everyone is well Aramis. The regiment is still in working order.’ Athos begins.

‘Not fallen apart under your command yet then.’ Aramis teases and then sighs, chastising himself and noting to confess later.

‘No, I have not failed. Yet. Porthos and d’Artagnan are well, as is Treville. He is all but First Minister now, in everything but title.’ Athos divulges as they sit on a bench in an empty clearing and Aramis nods in response to the news.

‘Why are you here Athos?’ Aramis asks, trying not to sound rude, but he’d not seen a single Musketeer in all the months he’d been there.

Athos sighs loudly and Aramis knows that it cannot be good news, why else would he travel from Paris, if it were anything but bad news.

‘The Queen…’ Athos begins and sees from the corner of his eye Aramis bristle and gulp, his eyes wide.

‘The Queen gave birth to a son two days ago.’ He quickly continues as he turns to watch his former Musketeer colleague for any reaction, but Aramis is an old hand at being guarded and he knows it.

‘Is she well? And the baby?’ Aramis croaks – there it is, the reaction Athos feared he’d get.

‘They are both well.’ Athos concludes and watches as Aramis lets out his breathe and sag with relief at the news.

‘He is the image of his Father. Dark hair and dark eyes.’ Athos plays it carefully, not wanting to out right accuse Aramis of once again sleeping with the Queen.

Aramis nods and loses his fight with the smile forming on his lips. Athos shakes his head, if he needed any further confirmation that is it.

‘He’s your son?’ He hisses lowly as he quickly leans in toward Aramis.

Aramis doesn’t answer – how can he and Athos knows it. If Aramis says it out loud and someone hears he would certainly be killed for treason – there is no way he could get away with it a second time. Not to mention what would happen to the Queen and their sons. It does not bear thinking about, not again.

‘When? Need I ask? It was the ball wasn’t it? I knew the moment you danced with her. I just knew nothing good could come of it. No wonder you left in such a hurry, without even saying goodbye. Do you know how angry Porthos and d’Artagnan were? You are their Brother, you are my Brother and you just disappear into the night. And now I know why.’ Athos snaps, but his voice is hushed, aware of the dangers of prying ears.

‘They can never know. Promise me Athos, no one can ever know.’ Aramis pleads, worry in his low voice and written on his face as he looks at his friend.

‘And I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.’ Aramis adds softly and Athos’ resolve weakens when he sees the look in Aramis’ dark brown eyes.

‘They will never know it from me, but they are not stupid Aramis. They will figure it out. No amount of lies will cover this.’ Athos chides and sighs.

‘Does the King suspect?’ Aramis is suddenly gripped with panic and his voice barely a murmur – is that why Athos is there – to warn him?

‘I do not know. I don’t think so. But like the Dauphin….’ Athos mutters quietly and Aramis relaxes a little from his words.

‘How is he?’ Aramis whispers, and receives a sharp glare from the other man.

‘He is well. The King and Queen are having a ball in honour of his second birthday.’ Athos replies with a low voice, he’s not sure why he even said what he did.

Aramis simply nods.

‘He too has his Father’s eyes.’ Athos adds with his voice low.

Aramis flashes a smile before looking down at his hands in his lap. He would love nothing more than to return with Athos and see the Queen and his sons, but he knows that it is too great a risk and he will not do that to her and them. 

No, he will remain where he is, he will continue to study and devote himself to God. But deep down he knows that his love for the Queen, his sons, his Brothers and his regiment will take him back to Paris at some point when he is needed, and to the life he is trying to run away from.

‘I hope it is not too much trouble but would it be possible for a bed and some food for the night? Maybe some wine?’ Athos stammers with his eyes down and a growing blush on his cheekbones, rather embarrassed to be asking.

‘Of course, of course. We offer refuge to all weary travellers.’ Aramis smiles broadly as he pats Athos on the back and they head back to the courtyard.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Aramis and Athos had spent the night reminiscing. Chatting about old times in the Regiment and the many adventures they had shares together. It is a nostalgic – yet painful - walk down memory lane for Aramis, and when he returns to his room for the night he is feeling troubled. His talk with Athos had stirred many emotions in him, ones that he had been trying to bury deep inside, ones that he needs punishment for.

He takes off his robes so he’s left in his under garments. He kneels on the floor in front of the cross on the wall above his bed. He pulls a multi-tailed whip from beneath his bed and a small piece of wood. He takes a breath as he puts the wood between his teeth and bites down. He picks up the whip and begins to hit himself over the shoulder on the back. 

He cries out against the pain of the tails sharply hitting his skin, but the sound is muffled by the piece of wood. He is breathing heavily through his nose and his eyes are watering as he continues his self-punishment.

After a few more hits he spits the piece of wood out onto his bed, his cries and groans of pain are softer, and his cries are replaced with mutterings in Spanish and Latin as he begs for forgiveness for his sins and his thoughts.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

‘Thank you for coming my friend.’ Aramis smiles as he stands in front of Athos in the courtyard.

‘It is good to see you. You should visit Paris. See Porthos and d’Artagnan, they miss you terribly. But I understand your reasons, even if they do not.’ Athos tells him as he takes the reigns of his horse and Aramis nods.

‘Take care Brother.’ Aramis mutters as he and Athos embrace.

Aramis winces and a grimace instantly spreads across his face from the sharp pain shooting through the skin on his back. But he bites down on his bottom lip and his eyes crinkle in pain – he can accept the pain as it reminds him of his sins and his failings.

‘And you my friend, and you.’ Athos murmurs as he steps back.

Athos’ eyebrows knit together as he catches sight of Aramis’ grimace, but it is quickly replaced by a warm smile, so Athos doesn’t question it. He can see the signs of self-punishment. He’s seen the bottom of enough wine bottles to know the look.

Athos mounts his horse and with a nod of his head and a tip of his hat he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - hope you liked this chapter
> 
> Please excuse any errors or mistakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for the comments and kudos' on this story.
> 
> I did trying to write something else before this chapter but I just couldn't get it to flow with the previous one or this one so unfortunately I discarded it and am just going with this one.
> 
> Disclaimer - this is a work of fiction it is not fact nor do I own any of the characters or people in this story

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Aramis is tending the herbs and vegetables in the gardens of the monastery when he hears the sound of hooves. He straightens up and looks through the trees between him and the courtyard.

‘The King is dead. The King is dead.’ Their young aide calls out loudly.

Aramis drops the tool in his hand and rushes to the courtyard along with everyone else. There is a mighty commotion as the news of the King’s death trickles around the monastery. 

All Aramis can think of is the Queen and his sons, they are selfish thoughts, but he cannot stop himself, not now. He needs to know how she is, how their sons are. Especially now that their eldest son is King.

People are talking to him and near him, but he’s not listening. He needs to go to Paris as soon as possible. He needs to see her, he needs to see them. Ignoring everyone around him he hurries to his room. He grabs his Bible and bag before dashing back out into the courtyard.

Again people are talking to him, telling him that they should pray. Pray for the King’s soul. Pray for the boy King – that stops him in his tracks. His son is just a boy, not even five years old and now he is King. His heart skips a beat and he lets out a gasping breath. He follows everyone else into the chapel and once inside he drops to his knees. 

He opens his small tatty leather satchel and retrieves the cross from the Queen – the one she presented him for saving her life at Easter those years before. The cross which is tainted by Rochefort. But in that moment it matters little, because in that moment it is his only physical connection to the woman he loves. He presses it to his lips, bows his head, closes his eyes and begins to pray. 

At first he prays in Latin for the King’s soul. He feels like a hypocrite, asking for God to look over the King’s soul and to accept him into heaven, after everything he has done to him, weather he knew it or not. He feels guilty that Louis had died thinking the Dauphin and Philippe are his sons. His feeling of guilt weighs heavier than ever before on his conscious and soul. He catches his own breath and takes a moment. 

Aramis opens his eyes and glances around. He sees everyone around him deep in prayer, some louder than others, some more emotional than others. Praying in both Latin and French. All of them praying for the King - the old and new. He turns back and drops his head down, again pressing the cross to his lips and closes his eyes.

In Spanish he quietly begins to pray to God to protect the new King. Prays for God to guide the boy and help him see the difference between right and wrong. Prays for him to be a just and fair King. Prays for him to be loving and kind, but firm and assured. He asks God to look over both of his sons, paying that they will be better men than him. And then he prays for forgiveness. Forgiveness for his sins. Forgiveness for his weaknesses. 

He is soon up on his feet and while everyone else is murmuring with prayer he slips out un-noticed and hurries to the stables. They’re empty, with everyone busy with prayer. He readies a horse and without a word to anyone he leaves. This is not the first time he has left without a single word to the people who he had come to see as Brothers, as friends.

But his feelings are carrying him. He need to look upon the warm and gentle, yet loving eyes of his Queen. He needs to see his sons. He had not see the Dauphin since he was just over a year old. And he has never seen Philippe, Duke of Anjou. He knows in his heart, body and soul that both boys are his. He feels a love for them he has never felt before. The love of a Father for his children. That special bond, one which can only exist between a parent and their child, or children in his case. 

As he rides further away from the Monastery he feels apprehensive and suddenly finds that he’s questioning his own decision. What good can come of him returning to Paris? He’d not been there for over three years. Will it even be the same? Where will he go? What will he say to Porthos, d’Artagnan, Treville? How will he react when he sees the Queen? When he sees his son, the boy King? Or the son he has never seen?

He slows his horse to a stop and simply stares off into the distance as if he’s looking for an answer.

‘What am I doing?’ He mumbles with a shake of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - hope it was okay.
> 
> Please excuse any errors or mistakes - I don't have anyone to proofread.


	5. Chapter 5

Aramis slows his horse as he approaches the Garrison. It has been nearly three years since he was last there, when he left without a proper goodbye to his Brothers, to his friends. He rides through the archway into the courtyard, its quiet. He knows where they will be – the Palais du Louvre, standing guard over the body of the King.

He dismounts and looks around – it’s no different, other than fresher paint and some obvious repairs. He breathes it all in. The familiar smells, tastes, sounds of Paris. The smells, the tastes and the sounds of his home.

He knows he’d sworn an oath and had already broken his vow once before but he is sure that God will understand. Understand that he needs to be there for the Queen and his sons. To protect and watch over them, now more than ever before. It is his duty as a Father and a soldier to protect the King and his family. A vow he will forever honour.

Aramis ties his horse off and then heads up the steps. With each step a memory of his time at the Garrison comes back to him. Memories of Porthos, Athos and eventually d’Artagnan. Even memories of Marsac and a time before Porthos and Athos. Some are happy memories and some are sad memories, but all of them are memories of experiences which shaped him into who he is.

He walks toward Athos’ office and knocks lightly on the door – he knows Athos wont be there so he opens it and steps inside. It is almost identical to the way Treville had kept it, as if it is frozen in time. A smile creeps across his lips, as his fingers brush over the desk and he is lost in thought.

‘Stop right there.’ A voice says loudly behind him and he can feel the tip of a rapier scratching the back of his neck. 

Aramis raises his hands, allowing the other man to see he is not holding a weapon, but he cannot hide the smile on his face.

‘Turn around and state your business.’ The man behind him commands.

Aramis slowly turns, a smile on his face and hands in the air. Porthos stands in stunned silence when he sees who is standing in front of him in the black robes of an abbé.

‘Do you mind?’ Aramis jests as he dips his eyes to the rapier only inches from the tip of his nose.

‘Oh.’ Porthos grunts as he sheaths his weapon and Aramis lowers his arms.

Without a word Porthos strides forward and pulls Aramis into his arms for a bear hug, taking him by surprise and winding him. There are footsteps outside and Aramis sees Athos and d’Artagnan in the doorway.

‘Aramis.’ D’Artagnan gasps as he stops in shock.

Athos is less shocked, he’s more cautious with his expression.

‘Porthos, old friend, you’re crushing me.’ Aramis mutters as he pats his Brother on the back.

Porthos releases the man and steps back, still bewildered and shaking his head in disbelief.

‘What-what are you doing here?’ Porthos mutters his eyes wide and searching.

‘I heard the news that the King had died….’ Aramis begins to explain but before he can utter another word he is sprung on by the youngest of their quartet.

‘I think we all know why you are here. But the true question is. Are you staying?’ Athos drawls from the doorway, his eyes fixed on the returning man.

D’Artagnan steps back and blushes slightly, allowing Aramis to catch his breath and gather himself. All eyes are on him. He takes a long deep breath, looking from one to the other. Seeing the expectance in their eyes.

‘If you’ll have me.’ He croaks with an unsure gulp.

Porthos and d’Artagnan instantly look at their Captain, who is now leaning arms crossed against the doorframe, his head slightly tilted as he studies the returnee. For what feels like forever Athos remains silent. Porthos and d’Artagnan look in a sate of panic that he will say no and Aramis looks worried, like a little boy who is about to get a telling off from their parent.

‘Come on Captain, put him out of his misery. Of course we’ll have him back.’ Porthos injects, annoyance at the delay clear in his tone, but also a sound of uncertainty.

‘We could do with his experience, you know that.’ D’Artagnan adds, arguing Aramis’ corner.

But it needs no arguing. A smile spreads across Athos’ face as he steps into the room and over to Aramis. He pulls him into his arms.

‘Welcome back Brother.’ He smiles, patting Aramis on the back and hearing the delight from the two other men.

Athos takes a step back and glances down at Aramis’ robes, and so do the other two Musketeers.

‘No, you just don’t look right. It’s like you’re not you.’ D’Artagnan shakes his head and crosses his arms.

‘We’re going to have to sort that out. Can’t have you walking around here dressed like that. Anyone would mistake us for Godly men.’ Porthos jokes, a wide grin on his face.

‘Well, it’s a good thing I kept these.’ Athos tells them as he opens a chest in the corner of the room and lifts out Aramis’ coat, boots, sash, hat, rapier, pistol and his pauldron.

Smiles spread across all their faces as Aramis steps forward to take the pauldron from their Captain with slightly trembling fingers.

‘Why-why did you keep these?’ Aramis questions with bewilderment as he looks up at Athos from the leather.

‘Because we knew that one day you’d be back.’ D’Artagnan answers before anyone else.

Aramis shakes his head in disbelief; tears threaten his eyes. 

‘I cannot believe you kept them.’ He smiles as his fingers trace the outlines on the leather.

‘Come on Aramis. We all knew that you’d return. Even the Captain. Even Treville.’ Porthos grins as he steps over and places a hand on the man’s shoulder.

‘But why?’ Aramis mutters as he turns around to face his closest friend.

‘Because this is where you belong. Here with your Brothers.’ Athos answers for them all.

Aramis looks at each one of them and he knows that he’s right. This is where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Please excuse any errors or mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once again for reading - I hope it wasn't too awful.
> 
> I also apologise for any errors in spelling or grammar
> 
> Please let me know what you think.


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